Burning Alive

I’m sitting here with you feeling for the little bit of weed that’s left in the piece.

I’m sitting here with you trying to drink away every last bit of who I used to be and who I’m starting to become.

You ask me what’s wrong and I don’t know how to tell you that I think I’m dying so I just say nothing instead.

You hold my hand and then we’re in your bedroom and you ask me if it’s okay.

I don’t know and I’m so scared and I’m so afraid of dying that I say whatever.

It’s hot and it’s strange but we’ve already started and wouldn’t it be kind of rude to say stop so I don’t.

I start crying and you start cursing and then you get up and leave.

I roll over on my side and dry my face on the stale sheets and I stumble into the shower turn the faucets up high.

The water burns my skin and I just sit under it and scream into my hands.

I’m scared and alone and burning alive.

You come into the bathroom with a needle and a spoon and I ask you if you’ve ever known god.

You ignore me because you’re so focused on the spoon and I cry and tell you that I need god but god’s left.

You walk over to me and push the needle into my arm and I pull you in and kiss you and try to pull the life from you into me.

Because I’m dying and scared and burning alive.